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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081883">bury me shallow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathetic_Lambchoppi/pseuds/Apathetic%20Lambchoppi'>Apathetic Lambchoppi (Apathetic_Lambchoppi)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1940s, Eventual Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, F/M, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, The Deathly Hallows, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:01:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathetic_Lambchoppi/pseuds/Apathetic%20Lambchoppi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, instead of continuing on, decided to help the sliver of soul that had lived within him for so very long. He plans to somehow save Tom Riddle before he ruins his life and becomes Voldemort, and for the man who came so close to defeating him, who better to do so? </p><p>But as Harry learns new obscure magics, faces powerful and ingrained prejudices, and meets both old and new faces, he will find only one thing certain.</p><p>Beware the man you think you know.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eventual Harry Potter/Tom Riddle - Relationship, Nicolas Flamel/Perenelle Flamel (Harry Potter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story will encompass Harry's time at Hogwarts with Tom during their 7th year. I've already sort of imagined the end, and there could be a sequel. This story in particular will just cover that 1 year however. I also do plan on this being slash, but it will definitely be slow burn if it were to even happen in this book. I hope to portray Tom as he should, and for that he can't fall in love easily. </p><p>Anyway, in addition readers should know I also intend on heavily exploring magic in the wizarding world and the racism against muggleborns and other magical creatures. The racism I plan to base on racism towards blacks in the 40s, which was awful of course. And since Rowling doesn't really go in depth in the magic of her world, a lot of it will be my own interpretation. I hope you end up liking it :) also please send criticism! This is also practice for me as a writer- it's been awhile since I've written anything and I know that I've matured a lot since then. I'm hoping that'll reflect in my writing here. </p><p>Also: I dont believe in adding tags that might be relevant. As the story progresses I will add characters, relationships, warnings, and tags. So it's really bare right now but that's because nothing has happened! </p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"Man makes plans . . . and God laughs."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>―Michael Chabon</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings</span></em> <em><span>seemed to invent themselves before his eyes.</span></em> <em><span>A wide-open space,</span></em><em><span>bright</span></em><em><span>and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with</span></em><em><span> that clear domed</span></em><em><span>glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for- he</span></em><em><span>recoiled. He had spotted the  thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the</span></em><em><span>ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath. He was afraid of</span></em> <em><span>it. Small and fragile</span></em><em><span>and wounded</span></em><em><span>though it was,</span></em> <em><span>he did not</span></em> <em><span>want to approach it. </span></em><em><span>Nevertheless he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment.</span></em><em><span> Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet</span></em> <em><span>he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but</span></em><em><span>it repulsed him.</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You cannot help."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He spun around. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Harry."</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>He spread his</span></em> <em><span>arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged.</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You wonderful boy.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You brave, brave man. Let us walk."*</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And so they did. It was wonderful- beyond wonderful to see his beloved headmaster once more. His last memory of him would no longer be of a broken man falling from green light. Instead, he was whole and loving and brilliant. Albus Dumbledore spoke of his trials, his triumphs. Bravery was as much a part of him as his scar, and Dumbledore, in his great wisdom, hadn't been sure if Harry would be able to do it. He looked unbearably sad when he mentioned his sacrifice of course, and Harry knew that his old headmaster wouldn't have judged him for not going to the forest. No one would have. But he did, and somehow he was lucky enough to have a second chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A miserable wailing interrupted them, and Harry wanted to cover his ears, and never look again. Curiously, he did anyway. It was strange, the pull he felt; almost like the itch to peak at something you know will give you nightmares, but only deeper and more potent. Albus quietly followed, and instead of just Harry, this time the pair of them slid to their knees and gazed upon the trembling creature Dumbledore hadn't yet named. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know what it is, Professor?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn't move his eyes away from the pathetic thing, but he heard robes shuffle and felt a perfectly healthy hand rest upon his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, and so do you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded, because it was true. The shard of soul that had lain beneath the scar on his forehead continued to cry, but it somehow seemed softer, not louder, with their closeness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You owe him nothing Harry, nothing at all." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dumbledore almost whispered it, like a prayer, and it was filled with a kindness and understanding only someone who had tried their very best to help could impart. Harry had always owed the world something, just for existing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe that was it that made him decide. The lack of expectation, of obligation. Something though, something long forgotten and repressed called out to this suffering thing, and Harry felt a need that was pure and unfiltered. A need that had kept him going, even when life was hard and sad and unbearable. He needed to help this creature, who was too much like a small ugly boy in a cupboard, dreaming of being rescued. Of someone repulsive and unlovable and who shouldn't even exist. Dumbledore knew before he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You always were a remarkable boy, Harry. I never would have guessed- but well, this is so like you that I think I should have."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry felt the gentle pressure on his shoulder leave and he turned, to find Dumbledore smiling carefully, and eyes filled to the brim with pride. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I-I don't understand, sir."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dumbledore's smile widened, and Harry was surprised to see how wet his old headmaster's eyes had become.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your heart does, my boy. And that's really all that matters."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swallowed heavily, and felt a burn within his own eyes. With a shaking hand he reached forward, but before he could a question burst from him.</span>
</p><p><em><span>"Tell me one last thing. Is this real? Or has this been</span></em><em><span>happening inside my head?"</span></em> </p><p><em><span>Dumbledore beamed</span></em><em><span>at him,</span></em> <em><span>and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?"*</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiled at the old man with his twinkling blue eyes and crooked nose, and with the bravery he now knew he had, and always would, possess, he reached forward through the mist. The child quieted at his touch, and a heaviness he hadn't even noticed was lifted. It was bright and light, and soon enough all he could see was white and crinkling red eyes.</span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*These are direct quotes from the Deathly Hallows chapter. So many times people rewrite this scene, and honestly Rowling did it perfectly so I didnt feel the need to butcher it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry woke where he had fallen, with only his clothes and three curious objects for company. He dropped one, pocketed another, and waved the third as he disappeared with a loud crack.</p><p> </p><p>-------</p><p> </p><p>For some time Harry just walked. From the snow he knew he didn't appear exactly where he had been. The real question was <em> when </em> he appeared<em>. </em>London answered that easily, first from the oddly formal clothing, and then from a balled up newspaper in the nearest bin. It was New Year's Day, 1944. </p><p>There was plenty of news about the war, due to it being in full swing. Harry briefly remembered that a disastrous bombing would happen later this year, but otherwise he knew nothing about the muggle's war.</p><p>Harry's knowledge of the magical war was much more extensive in comparison, which was to say he didn't know much at all. The Dark Lord Grindelwald would be defeated later this year, and that was about all he knew. More importantly, Harry recalled that Tom Riddle would be starting his seventh year in September. He had already murdered four people in cold blood, caused the expulsion of a dear friend, and made two horcruxes. Already, the angry, lonely boy he had seen in old memories had become a monster. </p><p>
  <em> Or is he?  </em>
</p><p>Harry held no illusions that the Dark Lord Voldemort had ever been a particularly good, or even nice, person. He was a liar, and a cheat, and had always found pleasure in others pain. All of those qualities were quite human, in certain doses, his Potions professor a perfect example of that, and even his cousin Dudley. And just like those two vastly different men, Tom Riddle was not necessarily evil. </p><p>He held onto that idea, that hope, desperately, as he made his way through London. Harry was quite good at that, hoping, and so he continued to think and plan and, dare he say it, look forward to what he might just accomplish. </p><p> </p><p>-------</p><p> </p><p>"Work ye say? Hmm I wouldn't know of anythin' a youngin' such as yerself could do. Mayhaps check on up there on Trolley Lane?"</p><p>The old Scottish wizard was much kinder than he looked, but nevertheless his answer was not the one Harry was hoping for. He'd never been in the position to get a job, let alone need one, and at this point he really needed one. While a painfully aching part of him would love to go to the Potters of this time, a bigger, much louder, part of him sneered at the thought. He wasn't their family, not really, and he knew one day a Harry Potter would be born. In this time, this world, he wasn't Harry Potter. He'd decided to call himself Evans, as a tribute to the woman who started this whole mess, and was determined to find his own way. If only it weren't so bloody difficult. </p><p>"Evans you say? Now not that I'm <em> that way </em>, but you have to understand. Muggleborns just aren't suited to my work, yeah? I'm sure you're a nice, decent wizard. Good luck to ya!" </p><p>The prejudice didn't help, either. </p><p> </p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>He slept under the stars the first couple days. It came naturally to him, so it wasn't too much of a loss. He didn't have a tent, but with a curious wand with odd bumps and ridges, keeping warm was barely a concern, and transfiguration wasn't to be underestimated. On the fourth day of his stay in 1944 he found a man politely knocking on his wards with a pale, yellowish wand with a unique horn-shaped handle. He was an odd-looking fellow with long curly brown hair partially tied with some sort of patterned cloth. His robes, while sensible, were an interesting combination of bright yellow, baby blue, royal purple and blood-orange, and atop his head sat a miniature bowler hat which also rested an even smaller ruby red frog. So, of course, he blended in perfectly with the rest of the wizarding world. His eyes, while small and beady, were a warm sky blue and Harry somehow knew this man could be trusted.</p><p>"Good morning sir, how may I help you?"</p><p>Harry held his hand out to shake, and the curious man crushed Harry's in his grip, and shook hard enough to flap both of their arms around. Based on his grin Harry knew not to take the roughness personally. </p><p>"A better question, I should think, is how I can help you."</p><p>They paused, Harry's hand still gripped in the other man's. The stranger had no qualms with continuous eye contact.</p><p>"So you're asking?"</p><p>"Quite right my young friend."</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The stranger conjured tea, and Harry was surprised enough to ask about that instead of his reasons for visiting. </p><p>He only smiled, not quite smugly, but something within that realm. Two little tea cups popped along into existence with a wave of his hand. They had dancing gerbils on the side.</p><p>"You learn a few things when you're as old as I am. I'm not breaking any "magic laws" of course, that would take a quite bit more effort." </p><p>The tea was very good.</p><p>They sat for a bit, making idle conversation, not about the weather, but about the best type of tree for climbing and whether or not a cloud dense enough to lay on could be asked to stay in the sky long enough to take a nice nap. The conversation only got weirder and weirder and Harry just continued to smile. Eventually they would reach the point they needed to, and not a minute sooner.</p><p>The two of them soon relaxed in their transfigured seats, the stranger's a great deal more comfortable looking than Harry's own. The tea had come and gone along with some little finger sandwiches and deviled eggs of all things. The stranger had expounded on the wonders of deviled eggs for quite some time when Harry asked. It was almost sunset when the noticeably relaxed atmosphere turned to something a bit more serious. </p><p>"Are you interested in knowing my name?"</p><p>The stranger didn't have any look upon his face, and he asked the question like he would any other. Harry's grin turned bemused. </p><p>"I figured you'd let me know your name if you wanted me to know."</p><p>The stranger beamed at him, and handed him the pale yellow wand he had used to knock on his wards. </p><p>"A wand tells a wizard about another just as much as, if not more so, than a name. Do you recognize the wood?" </p><p>Harry shook his head as he accepted the wand. It didn't shoot off sparks, but it did feel warm in Harry's palm. Not even a potential match, but if Harry wasn't mistaken, he could feel the hum of a phoenix feather within. Harry noticed that the wood was actually more pink than yellow, but he had no idea about the wood type, and told the stranger so. </p><p>"Lovely. Not only do you get to learn something new, I get to talk about it too!"</p><p>The stranger was so genuinely pleased that Harry couldn't help but chuckle. The other man laughed at nothing but Harry's own laugh, and so did the little red frog resting on his hat. For a brief moment that's all the three of them did.</p><p>"My wand has a phoenix feather core, the particular phoenix unknown to me, and made from a springy piece of apple wood. The apple is the tree of immortality, and as such apple wood is known to be attracted to long-lived wizards. With the core and the wood my wand spelled out my destiny the second they selected me." </p><p>The wand seemed to wiggle in Harry's palm, and he got the sense that it was laughing. The stranger's beady blue eyes twinkled, and Harry got the feeling that this man, and this wand, were much much older than they appeared. </p><p>"My name is Nicolas Flamel, and it is a joy to meet the Deathstick's wizard."<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And theres the end of the intro! I plan to dive right into Harry at Hogwarts, but naturally theres still 8 months to cover. I thought about telling that story and then going to see Tom, but thought better of it :) instead well do flashbacks, and next chapter Tom and Harry will meet. In addition, chapters will be much longer. This one and the first just felt like that needed to end where they did- but I'll probably do at least 5000 words in every chapter if not more from now on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! A few notes. I've actually written more than a few core scenes for the future- so now I actually have an idea about the plot! Seriously pumped to get to the climax of act I - I think you'll like it :) Anyway, please enjoy and leave me a comment! I'd love to know how I can improve. </p><p>In addition, just a general question. How do people get images in their stories? I like seeing it in other stories and would like to add some pictures in mine. If possible either comment an answer if you know, or send me a message- thanks!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em> September 1, 1944    </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 10:45 AM </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Kings Cross Station, London </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Going through the bustling crowd was a young wizard with wild black hair, thin stadium shaped spectacles, and a curious lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. His robes were appropriate for the time period: a smart white dress shirt and dark green pants, a matching vest and tie, and over it all a thin muddy brown robe that reached to his knees. Curiously, the muggles rushing about seemed to simultaneously have no idea he was there, and avoid him with extreme care. The man paid it no mind, for he was undoubtedly the cause, and without a hint of hesitation he stepped through the wall between platforms 9 and 10. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh, how I've missed you.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry couldn't even describe to himself the feeling that flowed through him at the sight of the Hogwarts Express. Some things were different, and all of those things contrasted to make what was the same even lovelier. The train was unchanged, towering and red and familiar, and Harry didn't doubt that the cubicles inside wouldn't change in 50 years time either. He really wanted to check though, so he pushed through the oddly heavy crowd and found his old compartment. Lucky for him it was empty, and he sprawled out with a relieved sigh. He absentmindedly waved the Elder wand, the air swirling into a mini tornado. It was cute, but when he felt his glasses begin to slip Harry let it disperse.</p><p>His life, as it was apt to do, was a whirlwind these past eight months. He couldn't have begun to imagine what his next great adventure would be, and after all that had happened he was finally here. Going to Hogwarts, and hopefully saving a young budding Dark Lord. <em> As if that'll be any easier than a full grown one. </em>Harry honestly had no clue how to go about it. While he probably knew more about Tom Riddle's past than anyone, and undoubtedly more about his future, that didn't necessarily help. From what he knew, Tom Riddle would be intelligent, charming, and ruthless. All things Harry either wasn't or despised. Not to mention that no matter how much he'd like to help baby Voldemort, a huge part of him still loathed everything he was and stood for. Not the best base to build friendship off of.</p><p>And who said Harry could even be Tom Riddle's <em> friend </em> of all things! Even then, if he were to manage that, who's to say if it would be enough to convince him to stop all that horcrux nonsense. <em> I guess that's the part I have to focus on. I doubt Riddle would ever get close to me- we just aren't compatible. But maybe, just maybe, I can convince him that horcruxes are a bad idea. </em>And if he couldn't do that, maybe he could invent an entirely new type of magic that forced a torn portion of soul to merge with the main piece.</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, that's definitely the easier option.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, no one attempted to enter his compartment. It was just the same to Harry, and so he donned his bare school robes with the ease of practice and replaced the ones he had worn in his trunk, which was shrunk with a tap and placed in the inner pocket of his robes. Once the train stopped, as he had been instructed, Harry approached a short stumpy man with a bald head and thick beard. A mini fireworks show played above his head, whistling and singing <em> First Years! This way! </em>over and over, while forming the words as well in bright electric flashes of color. When the man caught sight of Harry, clearly not a first year, he smiled and waved him over cheerfully. Amused, Harry trotted over.</p><p>"And you must be our young Mr. Flamel, yes? Yes, welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts! While it'll just be for this year, I'm sure you'll end up finding yourself calling this place home."</p><p>The man, nearly half a foot shorter than Harry, who himself wasn't very tall to begin with, shook his hand with enthusiasm. Ogg was no Hagrid, but they had the same spirit.</p><p>"Now, I wouldn't ask a grown man like yourself to share a boat with the youngins, but you'll still travel over with us. Tradition ya see, as well as how you'll be needing to be sorted. Stick close and I'll hand you off once we get to shore."</p><p>With a final pat to the arm, Ogg turned his attention back to his first years. As his train ride had been, the ride over was also anticlimactic. The sight of an undamaged Hogwarts did set his heart aflame though, and his determination to fix the wrongs of the past was only strengthened. Finally, Ogg led himself and the first years, of which there were many Harry noticed, to the familiar entrance to the Great Hall. Hogwarts was as dazzling as ever, and while he didn't plan to create some sort of character during his stay here, Harry was sure that his awe and wonder at his "first" visit to Hogwarts made it seem as if he had never been to the castle before to the casual observer. With little fanfare Ogg departed, and to replace him was a man he was equally excited and nervous to see.</p><p>In golden robes with red, yellow, green, and blue twirling stars and a matching pointed hat, Albus Dumbledore himself strode over to their group. His nose was familiarly crooked, and his eyes twinkled like mad. Even with shorter hair more ginger than silver, this man was clearly the one he had met in a ghostly Kings Cross station. </p><p>"Welcome, all of you, to the beginning of your magical journey, and undoubtedly the start of a most fantastic time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."</p><p>He bowed, low enough that his long nose almost reached the ground, and many of the children giggled. A certain amount of tension in the group was released. </p><p>"As a certain object will soon tell you, there are four houses that each of you will be sorted in. You'll be placed based on what you value, what your very being finds most paramount, and you'll find yourselves with people who will help you grow into the wonderful wizards and witches I know each of you has the potential of becoming."</p><p>Dumbledore beamed, and seemed to make eye contact with each one of them.</p><p>"I'll leave what those options are as a mystery to you, and hope that wherever you end up, you find yourself content there." With a wink, Dumbledore waved his wand and the doors behind him opened with a flourish.</p><p>"Follow me first years, and prepare for self discovery."</p><p> </p><p>A few years back Harry was sure he'd find his situation embarrassing, but he just found himself amused. </p><p>"You're awfully tall for a first year." A girl whispered, her hair pulled into a neat braid. Harry grinned and leaned in, whispered back as if it were a dire secret, "And here I thought I was being sneaky. Nasty mishap with time you see. Eleven, and stuck in a seventeen year old body." The girl's mouth dropped open in shock, but when Harry kept grinning she glared.</p><p>"You're messing with me!"</p><p>Harry shook his head, enough to cause his crazy hair to bounce off of her forehead. "I would never! This who situation is quite disturbing for me, you have to understand." </p><p>She looked like she wanted to say more, but then the hat began to sing. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> In times of old when I was new </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And Hogwarts barely started </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The founders of our noble school </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thought never to be parted: </em>
</p><p>
  <em> United by a common goal, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They had the selfsame yearning, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To make the world's best magic school </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And pass along their learning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Together we will build and teach!" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The four good friends decided </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And never did they dream that they </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Might someday be divided, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For were there such friends anywhere </em>
</p><p>
  <em> As Slytherin and Gryffindor? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Unless it was the second pair </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For while they were the best of friends </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their values greatly differed  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For instance, Slytherin </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Took only the cunning and those </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Who would do anything to achieve their ends </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And only those of sharpest mind  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Were taught by Ravenclaw </em>
</p><p>
  <em> While the bravest and the boldest </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Went to daring Gryffindor. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Good Hufflepuff, she took the loyal </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And those who accepted all </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And while those four friends eventually split </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their friendship lives forevermore </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now here I am, the thinking cap </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To leave you with a ponder </em>
</p><p>
  <em> While I take my yearly nap </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will you rectify the mistakes  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Of your alma mater?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The applause was especially loud, likely due to Dumbledore, who was not only clapping quite eagerly, but had also conjured some extra hands to join in. It made Harry grin, and if he wasn't mistaken Dumbledore gave him a wink right before he called the first name. </p><p>Thinking it over, something about the song spoke to Harry, with how important friendship was, and how even with the founder's differences they still came together to form one of the greatest wonders of the wizarding world. In some ways it felt like the song was just for him, even though he knew that was impossible. It begged the question of, even with their clearly different hearts, could Harry breach Riddle's? For he undoubtedly had one, no matter how cold.</p><p>His imminent sorting was on the forefront of his mind though, and he couldn't help wondering where exactly he'd end up. Harry hadn't discussed his sorting with either of the Flamels, not even his previous house. No small part of him would always be a Gryffindor, no matter where he was placed, but at this point in his life, he didn't really know what he valued most. Growing up had a funny way of making you doubt everything you had ever known to be unquestionably true. He knew he valued friendship, and love. And he would do whatever it took to save his family and friends, and even his worst enemy, from the fate they would encounter without him.</p><p>Did that make him a Gryffindor? Or did it make him a Slytherin? Or perhaps a Hufflepuff! The thought made Harry smile. No one would ever suggest <em> the </em>Harry Potter belonged with the puffs, not even Malfoy at his most petty. The idea had merit though, especially with how he wanted to save Tom Riddle with the "power of friendship".</p><p>
  <em> Or maybe I'll be Ravenclaw, and invent the soul fixing magic for Horcruxes. </em>
</p><p>That idea was even more laughable- Harry Potter would never be a Ravenclaw, he knew that much about himself. </p><p>Too soon, Harry heard an unfamiliar name called. Dumbledore's voice didn't catch, but Harry knew without a doubt that he recognized the last name. After all, Dumbledore had worked closely with Nicolas Flamel for many years; not to mention Harry's own eventful time in Poland. </p><p>The whispers, just like at his first sorting, were loud and repetitive. Flamel was a famous name of course, and the existence of a young Flamel was unheard of. Naturally, he hadn't existed for more than three months, but no one here had any reason to suspect that. Not only was he apparently related to an immensely famous and reclusive wizard, but since he was clearly not a first year, his reasons for being there were also unclear.</p><p>
  <em> Let them wonder- I'm not famous here, and the interest will die once they see I'm nothing special. </em>
</p><p>And wasn't that a wondrous thought. He'd gotten used to being a "regular" wizard while traveling the past year, but he had never attended Hogwarts without the weight of his name. With all the pain that seeing Hogwarts without many familiar faces brought, his anonymity was a very thick silver lining. </p><p>Harry walked up to Dumbledore, trying his best to not be completely awkward about it, and with a grin he plucked the hat from the professor's hand. Sitting, he placed it upon his head and closed his eyes. His sorting began.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em> Hmmm difficult, very difficult. Oh yes, I rarely sort adults, and I can see here that even as a child you were a tough case.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Yes, you were stuck between Gryffindor and Slytherin back then. </p><p> </p><p>The hat laughed and shifted upon his head. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yes, you certainly encompass the best and the worst from both of those houses. What say you this time Mr. Potter? Do you still know better than this silly old hat?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry just smiled with his eyes still closed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Still got talent, and that thirst to prove yourself. But you have a goal now, a task. What will you do to achieve it? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry knew where this was going, and decided to ignore the question.</p><p> </p><p>I think you've already decided where I belong. This time, I'll let you do your job without complaint.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How gracious Mr. Potter. Better be </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Slytherin!</p><p>~</p><p>Harry was still surprised.</p><p><em> Really? I mean, I guessed, but also... </em>really?</p><p>Harry attributed it all to an old adage: Age really does bring out the Slytherin in all of us. As shocked as Harry was, time stops for no man, so he trudged to the table of snakes while the Slytherin House symbol shimmered onto his robe, and the sorting continued. He decided to sit with his fellow first years, to be contrary, and kept up the idea that he’d had a mishap with time, and truly he was just an eleven year old like the rest of them. The baby snakes were clever, so it was a joke they could laugh at with him, rather than Harry laughing at them.</p><p>"So why'd you come to Hogwarts now, anyways? You have to be in your final year, or are you just stupid?"</p><p>The girl had immaculate yellow hair, and her whole face was scrunched up, as if she smelled something unpleasant. She sort of looked like a female Malfoy, and she certainly lacked tack like one. Her eyes were narrowed too, likely copying a familiar look from her mother, and it may have been intimidating to a fellow child, but to him was more cute than anything. He took a healthy bite of his roast instead of answering, and let her grumble. Eventually, with a crooked grin he answered.</p><p>"Hard to say if I'm stupid or not, but I am here for my NEWT year.” She still looked doubtful, so he continued. “Nicolas Flamel isn't my father, but he's as good as, and I've travelled with him for most of my life. We’ve been all over Europe for his alchemy work, parts of Africa and South America more recently.”</p><p>More than a few students, not even just first years, seemed to be paying attention now. Harry purposely kept his eyes from straying to the older students; he didn’t think he was ready yet. His words were slow, careful.</p><p>“I decided I wanted to experience the world renowned Hogwarts while I still could, and take a break from all that."</p><p>Some of the other first years took it upon themselves to glare at the snobby girl, and her face turned a brilliant shade of red, reminding Harry just how young she and the others were. He decided to keep smiling, gave those select students a look, and even gave her shoulder a little pat. She didn't need to be embarrassed, she was just a child asking a question.</p><p>"That's sweet! So, um, what sorts of things did you do?" A boy asked this time, skin a shade of brown so dark it was almost black.</p><p>Each of the first years were clearly interested, even if they didn't look directly at him. He placed his silverware down, and brought out his wand with an odd amount of gravity. Long and queerly shaped it had a heaviness to it most wands don’t, and even wizards as young as those around could feel it, though they had no idea what it meant. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, Harry flicked his wand and formed white smoke. It formed an irregular platform, and upon it swirled into being some tall trees and the shape of a werewolf. It howled at a shining moon and sniffed around its imaginary stage. At their gasps, he grinned.</p><p>"Let me tell you a story…" </p><p>---</p><p>Dinner ended up being an exciting affair, in a good way. Nick had been a fan of magical storytelling and teaching through conjured visuals, so Harry picked up quite a few tricks during their time together. It wasn’t hard magic, no incantations, just pure imagination and will; both of which Harry excelled in. Briefly his new head of house even popped by to marvel at his smoky scenes, and Harry was pleased that he wouldn’t be punished for the obvious use of magic outside of a classroom.</p><p>He talked first of his encounter with a transformed Remus Lupin, making sure to emphasize how on Wolfsbane he wasn’t a danger to anyone. Next the smoke darkened and formed an ominous forest, covered in colossal, thick webbing and mammoth sized spiders. At its core was the frightening Aragog, its many eyes black and almost glistening. The microscopic, in comparison, Harry ran for his life. Little Harry eventually won, of course, and the first years cheered for him. Laughing, Harry made the smoky shade bow, and with his tiny smoke wand he waved away the scene, and from the remains a tremendous Hungarian Horntail flew into being, breathing out immense winds of startling red, toasty-warm smoke.</p><p>After his tales, Harry was pretty sure he had made friends with every first year Slytherin, and garnered the interest of many others. Harry, the sneaky snake he was, had planned it. The newly sorted Slytherin was all too aware that he wasn’t very cunning, but if he knew anything about Tom Riddle, it was that he was obsessed with power. What Harry knew was that at this point the boy would’ve already formed his inner circle, and if he wanted to breach it, not just be like the others, Tom would have to come to him. While Harry’s last name may have been enough, a bit of intrigue always helped, at least he thought so.</p><p>“How did you do that Harry! I’ve never seen magic like it. Show us more, please.”</p><p>Some other first year asked this, and the others nodded like bobbleheads in agreement. Enchanted, Harry chose to teach, and he was all too pleased that some of these students’ first spells were of smoky circles and squares.</p><p>All too soon the plates cleared and prefects started calling for order. Like a sixth sense, Harry knew who planned to escort him to the common room.</p><p>“Mr. Flamel, correct?”</p><p>He didn’t touch Harry, thank Merlin, so Harry was able to turn to face him on his own. Seeing Tom Riddle, just like seeing Voldemort, was a unique experience. He told himself he wasn’t afraid of the darkest wizard of all time, and there was no contesting that he had faced the man with courage more times than any other, and had lived to boot. But with that experience came a certain understanding. This man would kill enough people, strike fear into enough hearts, that almost all wizards, including some of the bravest people Harry had ever known, would never dare to even speak his name. Harry wasn’t stupid, as much as certain people liked to tell him he was, and the icy chill that dripped down his spine was, in Harry’s opinion, completely natural.</p><p>
  <em> This man will murder my family, and when he fails to kill me, will hunt me down, relentless, until the job is finished. </em>
</p><p>Looking at Tom Riddle, Harry noticed many things. He was undoubtedly handsome, classically some would say. His robes were perfectly pressed, and the hair upon his head was dark just like Harry’s, but artfully slicked back. Everything about him screamed boyish charm, and from his dark earnest eyes to the dimple in one of his cheeks, absolutely nothing about Tom Riddle revealed the monster within. It was disconcerting, and honestly quite frightening. Harry thought for sure he’d be able to see behind the mask, but he couldn’t.</p><p>With all the knowledge in the world Harry couldn’t see the real Tom Riddle, and Harry realized there wasn’t anything to see.</p><p>Harry felt his toes curl, his stomach turn. Even his fingers weakly balled into fists without permission, and Harry wanted to hug himself, crawl somewhere small and dark. Never before had he been so painfully aware of a threat, but so unable to act against it. </p><p> </p><p>Harry had never actually 'been around' Voldemort. Typically, their interactions were strictly the Dark Lord being fucking terrifying, Harry being brave, and them fighting. He never had to be in the man's presence for extended periods, and for that he called his past self lucky.</p><p>After a numb confirmation of his identity, Voldemort guided Harry to their common room. His voice was warm, pleasantly modulated, as he talked about only God knows what. Everything about him was pleasant, from the messy curl on his forehead to his unobtrusive earthy smell. With only hums in response, often not at the right time, Harry knew he was ruining what should be a flawless first meeting, and whatever interest he had garnered at dinner was undoubtedly disappearing.</p><p>But all Harry could hear and see, all he could focus on, were his final moments, and it was more real now than ever that Harry had <em> died.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I thought he would come. I expected him to come.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I was, it seems...mistaken.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You weren’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“What was that?” Harry shook himself, eyes glazed and only partially seeing. Everything looked weird, not quite real. Muffled. Harry had the odd thought that if he pressed on the stone wall it would be putty beneath his palm. His body wasn’t his own, and Harry very much did not want to be here. </p><p>“Well, here we are! You should be in my room, so I’ll walk up with you. Here,”</p><p>Voldemort touched him, appropriately of course, on the upper back, and Harry almost seized. It was like a spider crawling along his neck, bugs squirming underneath his skin. Absolutely nightmarish.</p><p>Harry neatly turned, hopefully managing to play off his unease. Looking over the boy’s shoulder, unable to look at that freakishly normal face, Harry mumbled something, and walked off. When he crawled into his bed and closed the curtains, the relief he felt was euphoric. He spelled all the protection he could think of on the curtains, of which there were many, and the Elder wand practically purred in his palm. It whispered to act offensively, rather than defensively.</p><p>
  <em> You know the spell, Harry. </em>
</p><p>He almost threw the wand, but stopped midway and just dropped it. In the darkness Harry let himself cry, memories of that final night battering his brain like bullets. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Notes: The sorting song is mostly from the order of the phoenix- i changed a couple lines and took out some stuff but almost all of it is from there. Also, of course, the short excerpts from Harry's memory are verbatim from the Deathly Hallows. </p><p>Overall, I hope you enjoyed :) Next time we'll get into Harry building a relationship with Tom- don't worry, Harry isn't a wuss. Him working towards his goal in spite of his fear, not because of a lack of it, will be a common theme in this story. In addition, please note that Harry is not a reliable narrator. This will be more obvious as he meets other students, but I plan to only write from his POV, and MAYBE one or two other characters if it makes sense to.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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